


Losing Control

by emptywaterbottle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bladder Control, Desperation, Holding, M/M, Omorashi, Pee, Sherlock - Freeform, Wetting, bladder, pee desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7205300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptywaterbottle/pseuds/emptywaterbottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John deals with a hard day by getting desperate, Sherlock helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Control

John wiped the beads of water gathered on his stubble as he finished off his fifth glass of water. It had been a rough day and he needed a distraction. Getting smashed in the army wasn’t generally accepted, apart R&R days. This was how he learned to cope. Sure it probably wasn’t normal, but nothing gets your mind off the enemy quite like a full bladder threatening imminent release and embarrassment. The rush of your entire body and mind focusing on one thing—to keep control. The other voice inside telling you to let go. Telling you to piss yourself and let all that tension out. It was fantastic, and all encompassing. All he had to do was push slightly on his bladder, and the white hot sensation would cancel out all other thoughts. However, he was a doctor and he knew his limits. He’d always let it out in the toilet before it got harmful. Dr. Watson never pissed himself. In all his years of holding, he always maintained his control. It got close sometimes, and once or twice he’d had to go some untraditional spots, but never in his pants. John Watson was in control. 

John sprawled out on the couch as he felt his bladder start to ache. He decided to wait until nine o’clock to go, just two more hours. John casually flipped through one of Sherlock’s books as he rubbed his bladder. Images of the boy in the hospital today kept going through his mind, He was bleeding so much. It wouldn’t stop. The mom was screaming. He fell off his bike. Got hit. Driver didn’t even stop. John screwed his eyes shut and willed his bladder to fill faster. John was so deep in thought he didn’t even hear the door open. 

“John, good to see you’re being productive. Keeping the couch warm. Tea sound lovely thanks. Oh and no need to ask why I’m back early, I-” Sherlock was cut short as John looked at him. The doctor’s eyes looked tired and scared. He started again slowly, “John I am not good at this emotion thing, but I am intelligent enough to deduce you are troubled… And you look nervous… And from the spots of blood on your pants and shirt, I’m assuming you had a very injured patient.” Sherlock paused, looking expectantly. 

“What do you want me to say Sherlock. Bloody brilliant. Cheers. You got it! I had a fan-fucking-tastic day today. Hit and run on a ten year old.” Suddenly his bladder contracted and he automatically twisted his legs together. Praying Sherlock wouldn’t notice, he pulled a blanket over himself and tried ignoring the detective.  
Sherlock stormed off to his room, slamming the door. John felt slightly bad, the poor man was trying to be kind, but John just wanted to be alone. His bladder was starting to get very full, very quickly. He still had a whole hour and a half left… John slipped his hand under the waistband of his pants and gripped himself. Ahh the feeling was electric. It burned and made his whole body tingle. Finally his mind stopped thinking about the boy. Every sensation was stronger. He felt the scratch of the wool on his arms, the warmth of the light coming through the window. He heard the cars outside, and the police in the distance. He heard light footsteps, and the smell of Sherlock—wait what. 

“Bloody hell!” John screamed as he opened his eyes to Sherlock hovering a foot from his face. Then he looked down and realized the blanket was no longer covering his lap. John was laying there with his hands down his pants, legs crossed, and trying not to leak. He ripped one hand out of his pants, and pulled the blanket up with the other.  
Sherlock was confused. 

“I believe self-pleasure is an activity meant for one’s room…” He began, not sure how to continue. 

“That’s not what I was doing Sherlock. I just. I simply… I had… An itch.”

Sherlock stood up straight, looking bemused. Ah then I suppose you won’t mind if I just sit down here. He lifted up John’s legs and sat down at the other end of the couch. “Christ, Sherlock. I--” 

“John if you don’t want to be here, then just get up and go to your room.” Sherlock said, almost mockingly. Now John was really in a predicament. One, he couldn’t get up without squirming like crazy. God, he’d have to hold himself the whole way to the bathroom to make it on time. Two, it was still a half hour until nine. He had told himself to wait until then… John slyly tried sneaking a hand back down for a quick squeeze. “John, hands on the outside of the blanket.” Sherlock’s voice startled him into obeying without thinking. “Have you leaked yet?” 

“I—I what? I don’t… What are you t—talking about?” John asked suddenly panicking, his thoughts started racing with fear of being discovered. A wave of intense pleasure washed over his body as Sherlock gently placed a hand on John’s abdomen. He groaned and felt his toes curl in Sherlock’s lap. 

“What time?” Sherlock asked calmly. 

John managed to reply through his haze, “Nine.” 

“Good boy, you’re so good John. Just ten more minutes. You can hold it. Then you can let go all over.”

“N-no. I can go. Toilet. Make it.” Sherlock kept one hand gently rubbing John’s distended bladder and moved the other to stroke his hair.

“John you do as I say. You are going to let it all go in your trousers and I’m going to take care of you.”’

Sherlock continued comforting John and occasionally pressing on his bladder, all while quietly talking to him. The ten minutes were soon up and by that time John already had a small wet spot, due to Sherlock’s rule of no holding himself. He gave a harder push on John’s tired bladder, whispering in John’s ear to let it go. He pulled the army doctor on himself, cradling him. Finally John gave in and the piss poured into his pants. Soaking him and Sherlock. It cascaded in rivulets down his crotch, as he let out quiet gasps. 

Sherlock held him close.


End file.
